


petals of dust

by mountaindews



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Badwrong, Light Angst, M/M, maybe not suitable if you're sensible to certain thematics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountaindews/pseuds/mountaindews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll be good.”<br/>He tells himself those words over and over, to overcome the cold and the loss, but [...] he can't help but think how much he wants those dusten flowers to bloom on his flushed skin, gently opening their petals. The distant buzzing sound of the neon light swallows up all the noise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	petals of dust

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [petals of dust](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/227746) by me, but Italian. 



The dim light of the room is nothing short of suffocating, stale dust settling on Makoto’s lips in a thin layer of superficial skin. His eyes burn as they try and get used to the lightning, before a light too strong for his tender eyes gets turned on, eliciting a strangled, annoyed moan of protest from him.   
Just – just a couple of shots. Nothing more. _Nothing less_ , a cold, singsong voice adds in his head, not one less, as his bare feet grace the cold floor, leaving soft scratches on his skin.  
Not one more, not one less. Izumi is holding both the camera and his breath, mapping every inch of Makoto’s body with hungry eyes that make Makoto shiver. The blonde buckles his knees, holding back the tears that are already shining in his eyes. They’re just shots – what if Izumi lied? He shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place, not even under threat, why did he – when Izumi stretches his arm, Makoto’s eyelids flutter shut by command of reflex, but are quick to realize it’s just a light adjustment.  
« Don’t worry, Yuu-kun » he can hear him whisper, sweet, too sweet, almost intoxicating. « I’d never touch you against your will » Makoto breathes, hard, a shaking breath that slips past his lips and pierces through the dust poisoning the air « Are you ready for the first shot? Don’t cover yourself. »  
_« It’s just a shoot, like those we used to do – remember? You’d rather do this than stick with me, right? It’s just a couple of pictures, so why won’t you let me? »_  
_Izumi’s stoic composure let no feelings crack it, other than the cold, pale imitation of a rejected lover’s pain, and Makoto suppressed his impulse to run away, forcing himself to nod, hoping it’d end fast._  
The flashes of the camera, Izumi’s breath – it’s already too much, too much, too much. He’s barely conscious of his own breath, every word he could possibly think of saying dying on the sandpaper of his tongue before it can slip past his dust-sealed lips. The more clicks and flashes he hears, the more unbearable they become.  
One for his expressionless face, one for his pale thighs, one for the gentle curve of his back. Makoto feels like he’s drowning.  
« Yuu-kun, you’re so perfect, Yuu-kun… » Another flash, two, three. « You can move now, Yuu-kun, do as you please. Don’t cover yourself, don’t raise your arms – that, that’s almost perfect. »  
Izumi’s breath is way too close, and his warmth might as well be burning Makoto’s frozen skin. The hard concrete of the floor stings his knees as he moves, and he bites his nausea back, looking for a pose Izumi will find satisfying enough. The faster he finds one, the faster this torture will be over. One picture for the red scratches marking his skin, another one for his spread legs. Makoto isn’t counting anymore. Perhaps it’s better like this.  
« Yuu-kun » a strangled whisper between the dust and the noises of the camera, « Yuu-kun, you’re perfect, don’t move, Yuu-kun, don’t move… »  
Izumi is too close, and when he takes a few steps back to angle the camera differently, Makoto nearly sighs in relief. He’s everywhere, filling the room with his presence, his heavy breath, his unbearable warmth. The dust in the air, so innocently dancing as motes in the flashing lights; it fills his lungs like rust to rain-tapered metal, making every breath more painful than the last. He can hear Izumi sigh with admiration as he scans through the pictures, followed by a lilting hum, soft with approval, before raising his gaze again to meet Makoto’s own. Makoto can’t see himself reflected in those normally fair eyes, now far too dark to see their bottom, like decadent wishing wells. They’re almost scary with the way a hollow cold rests inside them. If there’s something in Izumi that truly scares him, more that Izumi himself does, it’s his eyes; their emptiness, almost like that of a corpse, glassy irises with no pupil staring back at him.  
« What are you going to do with these pictures? » the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, followed by a frightened shiver. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know. But Izumi just smiles, bitterly, so out of place that it's like a scar upon his lips, before taking another picture, capturing the first expression Makoto has made since he's let his clothes slide on the floor.  
« I’ll look at them every day. »  
His voice is low, different, unusually expressive. Makoto lays on his hip, changing pose once again, trying to hide his face (now flushed, thinking about how Izumi is going to revive these moments every day, doing who knows what with his pictures, toying with himself while preying on his weakness) from the camera.  
« Every day, Yuu-kun. And I’ll think about you. »  
The gaze on his skin is more heavy than any touch could ever be, resting there, wounding, goring, not leaving room for air, for any evidence of him. Its weight is crushing his chest, filling it with the burn of bile in his throat.  
« Until it won’t hurt anymore. »  
Makoto holds his breath.  
Izumi is disgusting. Vile, even. Turning slightly to face him, he catches the semblance of a tear rolling down his cheek, but it’s gone between the flashes and the clicks and the poses, taking some of the cold burden on Makoto’s chest with it. It’s almost nauseating how he’s feeling pity for such a beast - the one that forced him into here, without his clothes, on the cold floor of the storage room, the concrete biting his skin, his lungs filled with dust.  
_Maybe – he could feel warmth once more…_  
_Maybe, if he just –_  
« Yuu-kun, we’re done » the desperation behind his flat voice is so clear, so strangely disturbing. « You can get up and find your clothes. »  
His knees won’t support his shivering weight, he already knows. Looking away, staring at a crack in the wall, his quivering lips manage to let a vague question out.  
« Can you… my shirt… it’s on that chair. »  
He would like to be alone, without Izumi, for at least some semblance of privacy. But he has already seen him naked (once again, the thought bringing nausea to him in a wave), so he guesses it’s pointless. What if someone sees him? It’s a scenario he forces himself to push to the back of his mind.  
_Does he really want to be alone in the same room as Izumi?_ It’s so ridiculous. His head is spinning. The long fingers handing him the shirt – almost reverently – get grabbed almost as shyly, with a grip a little more tight than he’d expect himself to have.  
« Izumi-san » he’d like his voice not to be as breathy as it is, « Izumi. »  
Izumi’s lips are trembling as well, now that he can clearly see them. His cheeks have flushed a light pink that doesn’t quite suit him, and in the heavy eyes still mapping his naked body, Makoto can finally see his reflection. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to fall into those depths.  
But Izumi’s hand is so warm on his and his eyes are so innocent, pleading, and he doesn’t want to resist, either. He’s too cold to let this opportunity slip through his fingertips.  
« Yuu-kun » It’s almost a whimper, and though it’s venomous as every other before it, it's less sickening. The shiver that trickles down Makoto’s spine is not that of disgust. His words are already fluttering in the dark of the storehouse before they can tumble down his tongue.  
« Kiss me » Izumi’s lips are immediately on his, in a feather-light kiss, uprooting the dusty flowers that bloomed onto that plush, paper thin surface. They’re soft, they’re warm, and even though the other boy hasn’t touched him yet, he’s already too hot to think. He pulls him closer, and Izumi pulls away, sliding between his thighs before kissing him again, pressing his body against Makoto’s, his hands still on his wrists as if he has to keep containing him.  
But he doesn’t. _I won’t run, not this time._  
« Izumi, _touch me_ » he mutters, ignoring how desperate he sounds, silencing the rational part of his brain that has been begging him to be careful. Izumi’s breath comes in soft puffs on his neck as his back finds comfort on the concrete floor, the hands on his hips are gentle and warm, warm, _warm_ , melting the ice on his chest; and when blue eyes meet his, Makoto can’t help but lose himself to them.  
_I won’t run._  
Their lips meet again, and though he knows he’ll probably find it disgusting later – it’s not enough to stop him.  
Izumi’s fingers brush his thighs, caringly, softly, and Makoto lets his head fall back, breathing the dust in, letting it poison his lungs, suffocating him.  
_I’ll be good._  
He tells himself those words over and over, to overcome the cold and the loss, but as Izumi touches him, he can't help but think how much he wants those dusten flowers to bloom on his flushed skin, gently opening their petals under Izumi's fingertips. The distant buzzing sound of the neon light swallows up all the noise.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW. I've written this in three days, which is an absolute record for me. English is not even my first language, so apologies for my rusty writing…… I'm also submitting this on my phone, at five am, it's truly been an adventure.  
> Either way, I couldn't have done this without my lovely, lovely big sis and beta, Lamb~ hi Lamb! She practically wrote this fic with me, she's been so kind it makes me tear up? I love you, Lamb! Smooches to you.  
> Uuh--- thanks for reading, if you arrived here! Smooches to you too, and now I'm off, I seriously need to get some sleep.  
> Hit my twitter: @natsumaos


End file.
